bla
“Whose choice?”
“Our choice!”
Oakland’s chanting swells to a roar.
“WHOSE choice??”
“OUR choice!!”
The rage feels… reverent… protective… maternal.
A gray-haired woman speaks: “I was 17… friends collected money… abortion was illegal… I was blindfolded … a lock clicked… somebody said, ‘You’re a sinner’…”
A young woman trembles: “I’ve never told anyone… He raped me… demanded I keep it… it was legal… they were kind… I told him I miscarried… he went ballistic…”
A child in a tutu shows me her sign—“Don’t be mean!”—dotted with unicorns.
I smile back. “I love unicorns, too.”
We’re here for her.
